Part 29 (1/2)
Lucie recoiled in terror. Had the gossiping a.s.sessor betrayed her secret? Had he brought hither either Repuin or Sorr? They were the only persons who could have any interest in discovering her retreat. She gazed towards the spot indicated by the a.s.sessor, and, in dread of encountering Repuin's detested form, moved closer to Kurt as if for protection. ”Whom have you brought here?” she asked.
”I cannot mention any name, Fraulein Muller,” the a.s.sessor replied. ”I promised not to do so, and I am a man of my word. But I can a.s.sure you that you will rejoice to see my honoured companion. He wishes to meet you alone, therefore I pray you step aside to where he is awaiting you in the forest only a few steps from here.”
”I will not go!” Lucie declared. ”Whoever your companion may be, he has no right to require that I should go into the forest to meet him.”
”You do not know of whom you speak, Fraulein Muller,” the a.s.sessor said, with unusual earnestness. ”I entreat you not to refuse. I a.s.sure you you will rejoice to see my companion, who longs to clasp you to his heart.”
Lucie shot at the little man a glance of flame. She turned in indignation at such insolence to Kurt, saying, ”I have nothing further to say to this gentleman. May I beg you, Herr von Poseneck, to continue our walk?”
”But, Madame--Fraulein Muller, I would say--you place me in the most embarra.s.sing position; there can be no reason why you should not see my honoured companion. I give you my word of honour that he comes by Fraulein Adele's express desire; he is the only man in the world whom I would have conducted hither. I was so glad to meet you here in the forest, and not to be obliged to go to the castle to find you, and now you refuse to go a few steps to meet him when he has come so many miles to see you. Do you mistrust me? I do not deserve it of you!”
There was so much of honesty and good will stamped upon the a.s.sessor's face, he was evidently so aggrieved by Lucie's distrust of him, that his words produced some effect upon her. She hesitated, and wondered whether she were right in her refusal; but before she could reply an elderly gentleman, the same whom the a.s.sessor had received at the railway station, emerged from the forest and hastened towards her.
She gazed at him for a moment, and then, with a shriek of joy, threw herself into his arms, and, clasping her own about his neck, kissed him again and again. ”I have you again! Thank G.o.d! thank G.o.d!” she cried.
”This is too much joy! Now I will hold you fast. You must not leave your child again.”
The gentleman was much moved, and the tears stood in his eyes as he returned Lucie's kisses. ”My child! my dear, good child!” he whispered, tenderly. ”You are mine once more, and I shall know how to protect you from your dastardly persecutors.”
”We are not alone, we must remember that,” Lucie said, at length, extricating herself from her father's embrace.
The old man turned, with his daughter's hand still in his, and extended his right hand to Kurt. ”Forgive me, Herr von Poseneck,” he said, ”for presenting myself so unceremoniously to Fraulein Cecilia von Hohenwald and yourself. I had hoped that my daughter would comply with our friend the a.s.sessor's request and come to me in the forest; but her natural reluctance to do so is the cause why you are the witnesses of a meeting between a father and daughter who have been separated for years.”
For a few moments the poor a.s.sessor found himself upon a pinnacle of glory. The modesty with which nature had endowed him was in danger of great deterioration, so enthusiastic were Lucie's thanks to him for his kind interest, so gratifying was the appreciation of his services by his fair cousin and Herr von Poseneck. But alas, poor man! he soon experienced the uncertainty of such a position, and felt himself no better than the fifth wheel to a coach with the two couples, who evidently desired to be left to themselves. Kurt and Celia paid him not the least attention, and Lucie was so wrapped up in her newly-found father that she soon seemed entirely to have forgotten Hahn's existence. He was therefore fain to amuse himself by botanizing among the forest flowers.
Lucie clung to her father's arm as if fearful of losing him again should she leave him for an instant. They walked on in advance of the lovers, and as soon as they were out of hearing the daughter gave words to her delight. ”I am so happy, my darling father; I can scarcely believe the evidence of my senses that I am looking into your dear eyes and feeling your strong arm support me. Oh, father, how could you stay so long away from your child? All would have been different if you had been here!”
”I could not have prevented Sorr from ruining himself and you,” Ahlborn gloomily replied. ”Do not reproach me, my child. I did what I was forced to do, and the result has crowned my work. When I left you without even taking leave of you, I determined never to return unless in possession of all, and more than all, I had lost. Even then I suspected how bitterly we had been deceived in Sorr, and my only object in life was to work for you, my darling, that your future might be secure. With this one thought in my mind I went to America and plunged into a life of toil, in which, when I might have faltered and fallen, the thought of you sustained me. I added dollar to dollar with the parsimony of a miser. I embarked, like a madman, in the boldest speculations. All that I touched seemed to turn to profit. But why dwell upon those wild years? I hate to think of them, for, although I never stooped to what the world calls dishonesty, it galls me now to remember how different was the system of mad speculation by which I regained my lost fortune from the plodding industry by which I first obtained it.
”Three months ago I arrived in Bremen, and hurried to Berlin, where my worst fears with regard to Sorr were confirmed. His reputation was gone, his property lost; and I was told that he had removed with you to M----. When I reached M---- it was too late, you had vanished unaccountably, and Sorr, too, was not to be found.”
”Did not Adele tell you where I was?” Lucie asked.
”I never thought of going to her, so wide-spread was the report that in your despair you had destroyed yourself. I left M---- a broken-hearted man; of what use was my wealth? My aim in life was gone.
”I tried to divert my mind by travelling aimlessly hither and thither; and at Frankfort-on-the-Main, seeing by the papers that a fine estate on the banks of the Rhine was for sale, I purchased it, in hopes of finding relief from my misery in the care of it. But the peaceful solitude to which I had looked to soothe my pain only increased it, and again I began my wanderings, which suddenly found their close in Berlin. Last Friday I was sauntering aimlessly along the street there when I met the a.s.sessor von Hahn. Remembering that in former days he was in the habit of frequenting our house, where he was one of your adorers, I did not rebuff him when he recognized me and with a cordial welcome on his lips walked along by my side. I soon wearied of him, however, and paid no attention to the gossip he continued to retail to me, until I was aroused from my absence of mind by the question, 'Have you been to see your daughter yet?' If he were conscious that your friends mourned you as dead, why ask so cruel a question? I begged him instantly to tell me all that he knew of you, and this threw the little man into the greatest confusion; my joy was unbounded when he a.s.sured me positively that you were still alive, although he refused to reveal to me your retreat, and referred me to your friend Adele. An hour later I was in the train bound for M----, and the next morning I had an early interview with your friend, who was in raptures at recognizing me. But, ah, my child, what a tale she told me! My poor darling, to what a fate did I resign you! Now, however, I know all,--all, for Adele even gave me your last letter to her to read, entreating me to go instantly to your aid, to carry you to my home on the Rhine, far away from Castle Hohenwald, where, as you said, each moment was torture to you.”
”Did Adele say that?” Lucie asked, in surprise. ”Did she not show you my second letter, which she must have received almost simultaneously with the first?”
”I know nothing of any second letter; but your friend regretted deeply that she had not yet been able to procure you the situation for which you implored her, and added that she was upon the point of writing to you, to insist that you should return to your old retreat beneath her father's roof. We consulted together what was best to be done. We agreed that you must leave the castle immediately, but in view of the eccentricity of its lord, I judged it best to accept the friendly offices, so frankly offered, of Herr von Hahn to procure an interview with you, rather than to present myself in person to the Freiherr.
”I telegraphed to the a.s.sessor at A---- to meet me at the station there, and as soon as I was able to procure a place in the crowded trains came hither. He was waiting for me on the platform, and before we left the station he pointed out to me two gentlemen who had arrived by the same train as Count Repuin and the Finanzrath von Hohenwald.”
”Good heavens!” Lucie exclaimed. ”Werner and the Count! This is, indeed, wretched news. I feared it, I feared it, although I could not conceive that the Finanzrath could be so basely treacherous. But let Count Repuin come,--I am no longer defenceless; I will confront him boldly in the presence of the old Freiherr.” Then as she reflected that her kind old friend was absolutely ignorant of her past, now probably to be so misrepresented to him, she went on, in feverish agitation: ”But, oh! my father, there is a danger which you cannot avert. What if my kind friend should be led to doubt me by the falsehoods that will doubtless be poured into his ears? I will not lose his esteem and affection; we must see him before the Finanzrath and the Count reach the castle. Perhaps it is already too late. Protect me from them, father, if they should be there, and stand beside me while I tell the Freiherr my wretched story.”
But to this her father was not inclined to agree. Had it not been for the presence of Repuin he would gladly have allowed his child to acquaint the Freiherr with all her past, but he could not doubt the Russian's close a.s.sociation with Sorr, and from her husband even Lucie's father could not protect her. Should Sorr require her to follow him, nothing remained for her save to elude him by a secret flight from the castle without even bidding the old Freiherr farewell. Only when beneath her father's roof could she thank Baron von Hohenwald for all his kindness and explain to him the grounds for her sudden and secret flight.
When, however, Herr Ahlborn explained his wishes on this head to his daughter, he encountered a determined opposition on her part; she was so unwilling to leave without one word of explanation what had been to her a dear asylum, that at last, trusting in Sorr's absence, the father yielded to Lucie's entreaties and consented to accompany her to the castle.